


Lime in the Coconut

by StringTheori



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Heavy Drinking, Pre-Slash, TFLN Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StringTheori/pseuds/StringTheori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky celebrates his birthday with cake, margaritas, and McFlurries. Kind of. Steve puts up with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lime in the Coconut

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of the TFLN Challenge and is approximately start number fifteen. Not kidding. It takes place vaguely in the same continuity of the Hockey AU I have going (and need to get back to) but isn't canon because I am, like, 99.999% sure they would be way less classy than this. I'm going to go hide my face now.  
> This is the prompt:  
> (570): why did i make a hit list last night containing only McDonalds?  
> (1-570): you tried to order a magarita mcflurry and when they said they didnt make those you tried to call 911.

"People are so pissed I didn't make your cake," Steve scrolls through Twitter, trying and failing to repress a grin. Bucky leans over his shoulder to review a few comments, makes a thoughtful noise with like he knows how to read. Steve can pretty much feel the eye roll. "Why are people even following my Twitter? I'm not the one going to get drafted, I just make words. And even if I were super famous like a certain college forward, did they miss the whole tweet about me not baking? I cook. I make dinners. You bake. "

"Maybe they just think you're the most adorable play-by caster ever and our friendship is magical," Bucky rests his chin on the top of Steve's head, smelling like confectioners sugar and flour. He's still wearing the slack and button up he wore to dinner with his parents, says shit about cooking fancy when Steve tries to mock him for it. Right now, Steve ignores him. "We want this cake to be edible. I'm supposed to survive on my birthday."

"Fuck you," Steve tucks his phone into his jean pocket, his attention focusing solely on the bottle of tequila Bucky thinks they can drink before the night is over. The tequila doesn't judge him for not baking, neither should assholes on Twitter. "I made the icing."

Bucky laughs. Not that Steve feels it all the way down his back or anything. That would be so totally weird, especially with Bucky not knowing how much of a crush Steve doesn't have or how often he's never drawn him.

Sometimes it's hard to remember that when he can smell Bucky's aftershave.

Steve is totally glad he doesn't think about that sort of thing, not even when Bucky is _right there_ , already birthday happy and smiling.

"Whatever," Steve elbows Bucky, gentle only because it's his birthday and they won. " _You_ made it pink."

Bucky laughs again, leans back from the sharp edge of Steve's elbow.

"Not my fault we ran out of red dye, man," Bucky starts to unbutton his shirt, fucking finally, and no, Steve didn't just think that. Baking fancy is an adventure that leaves sugar frosting on ones sleeves. Bucky lick some from his right wrist cuff and hums in satisfaction. The tank he has on underneath is a size too large, hangs low and carnelian. "The shield thing is cool though, right?"

Steve looks dubiously at the cake. Bucky bought fondant and used it to try and make some kind of shield to match their school emblem. The teal circle with ivory rings might eventually be able to consider themselves a shield but probably never the signature of MCU. He says, “Right.”

Steve dumps too much tequila in the shaker with the mix to try and focus on anything else but Bucky in his tank and well tailored pants, pretends he meant to. Bucky gives him a thumbs up for the exuberant alcohol addition and says something about birthday dinners Steve can't hear over the force of the shaking.

"Cake and margaritas," Steve shakes it harder, much more force than necessary. He's not looking forward to the ache in his shoulders in the morning. "Birthday dinner of champions."

"I would kill for a McFlurry," Bucky tosses his shirt onto a chair. He beelines for the freezer, peering into it with a frown. "Do we have ice cream?"

"Only if Sam bought some." Which he didn't. Sam is good like that and thus officially not Bucky's favorite if the groan from the freezer is anything to go on. "Booze, cake, and Bob's Burgers. That's not something to whine over, Buck."

Bucky throws an ice cube at him.

 

 ---

 

"No," Bucky says three hours and five margaritas later, his eyes narrow. He holds Steve tight by the shoulders and Steve is fucked up enough to not care so much, just let himself be jostled about. "I meant it. I would kill for a McFlurry. There has to be something we can do, Stevie."

Steve opens his mouth to say something adult like 'fuck off' or 'not in this economy' but Bucky is already talking again, drunk and happy with it. They're both very aware he'd be even more delighted with his life if he had a McDonald’s in the house. Bucky drops his hands, spins about so fast that by all rights he should be on the floor. He drapes over Steve's shoulders instead.

His hand drops to Steve's ass, fingers on his back pocket. Steve chokes on his mouthful of margarita, burns his nose due to salt suddenly all over the place. "Uh, Buck—"

"Why don't you have McDonald’s in here, dude?" Bucky pulls back to look through the phone he just stolen from Steve's jeans. He scrolls through the contact list, frowning. "I know we don't eat there or talk about it but Captain Commentator needs to be prepared.”

Be ready for Bucky Barnes craving a certain ice cream.

Yes.

Of course.

Why didn't Steve think of that, how silly of him.

Steve almost says so but he's too busy not snorting the leftover salt he can't quite cough out. That's when he turns away for five seconds, and turns back to see Bucky with the phone to his ear. He's muffling the ring-tone that Steve hears fucking anyway.

"Bucky, what are you, no, give that back to me." Steve grabs for his phone, ends up wrestling against a headlock that presses his face against Bucky's chest. Dirty pool. He says as much, spitting profanities when a tired woman’s voice filters through the phone.

"Yeah, hi, I was hoping to order a margarita McFlurry," Steve bites him on the arm. Bucky hisses and loosens his hold enough for Steve to squirm free. It's not long until the person on his phone has his attention back again. "What do you mean you don't have margarita McFlurries? This is America. We have tequila in our ice cream."

"Oh for Pete sake," Steve snatches his phone back. "Leave the poor woman alone, I'm sorry, ma'am," and hangs up.

“This is America, Steve,” Bucky stares at his cake, eyebrows together. “We need to let people know.”

Steve's about to point out what a terrible idea that is, really, but once Bucky gets right there, right in his face, all he does is flounder and try not to scowl. “Post on Facebook?”

“Sure,” Bucky takes Steve’s phone again, or at least tries to. Steve ducks out of the way. “We need to call the police, dude, we _have to_ , it's our fucking duty.”

“Duty,” Steve pushes at him. Bucky grins. “Really.”

“You said duty.”

He's not sure what to say, gapes a bit, and that's when Bucky grabs a pad of paper and starts to scribble.

 

 ---

 

Steve wakes up the next morning face down with his cheek on Bucky's elbow, his mouth sour with alcohol, and his phone down the front of his jeans. Bucky makes a noise of protest to Steve's slow roll away, one Steve ignores because he's not an idiot.

Bucky wakes up two hours later with the list taped to his face and coffee on the bedside table.

Steve takes a picture.

 


End file.
